


Bravery Will Follow

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle Knows What She Wants and Goes For It, F/M, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Post Episode 2x01, Reunion Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Rumplestiltskin and Belle are reunited, and when he takes her home, he has a spare bedroom all set up for her.  Belle has other ideas.  Rumbelle reunion smut set after 2x01 "Broken"Winner of Best First Time in the Rumbelle Happy Ending Awards.





	Bravery Will Follow

**Author's Note:**

> OUAT is ending, and I'm feeling nostalgic, so have some post-2x01 reunion Rumbelle smut.

He told her he was a monster, and she smiled at him.

It was almost too incredible to believe.  Firstly, that Belle was alive. Secondly, that she didn’t hate him for what he had done.  Thirdly, that she loved him. Or at least she said that she did. He couldn’t understand why.  She was as beautiful as ever, of course, and he... well, he was as dark as ever. His stunt with the wraith proved that.  She had forgiven him, because that was who she was, but rage still burned in him. Rage and fury and the desire to skin Regina alive.  He wouldn’t, though. Not now. Not yet.

He had been sitting in the shop as night fell, spinning gold almost without thinking, getting used to the magic flowing through his body once more.  It was different here, but not so different that it affected his abilities. The Dark Curse, it seemed, transcended realms. He had let the power flow through him, out through his fingertips into the straw, spinning threads of gold to coil and spool onto the floor at his feet.  It was comforting, calming, and the sound of the shop doorbell had barely registered.

He hadn’t expected her to come back.  For her to return was more than he deserved.  For her to forgive him was almost too much to bear.  He felt her hands on his shoulders, the warmth of her through the thin silk of his shirt, and wanted to cry as she told him that she had to stay.

There was silence for a moment after that, and Belle put her head to the side.

“Rumple,” she said.  “You - you don’t live in this shop, do you?”

He met her eyes, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“No, of course not,” he said.  “I have a house on the edge of town.”

“Right.”  She glanced around, chewing her lip.  “Well, it’s late. D’you think we might go there?”

He wasn’t sure how they made it to his home.  It was almost as though he was having an out of body experience as he drove, and he wasn’t sure if it was the magic, or the shock of having her back.  Belle inspected the Cadillac with some trepidation, clearly unused to cars, and he grew angry with Regina all over again. How little did she know? How much had Regina kept from her?

Belle soon relaxed in the car’s interior, running her hands over the leather seats and glancing out of the windows as they drove at a sedate pace through deserted streets.

“It’s certainly warmer than the carriage,” she said brightly, and he sent her a brief smile.

He pulled up on the driveway of his house, and helped her out of the car.  She was looking around curiously, and he shut and locked the car, keeping hold of her hand.

“What do you think?” he asked, and her eyes flicked across to meet his.

“It’s very different to the Dark Castle,” she observed.

“Is that bad?”

“No!” she insisted, squeezing his hand.  “No, it’s not bad. Just - different. I spent the gods only knew how many years looking at the same four walls of a cell.  This is like a - a palace. And it’s pink. I - I never thought you might have a pink house.”

“It’s comfortable enough,” he said, and squeezed her fingers, drawing her with him up the path.

It was warm inside the house, and he locked the door behind them, fingers flickering as he set a protection spell around the perimeter.  Belle was glancing around with interest, her eyes flicking from the hall table to the mirrors on the walls, to the carved wooden stairway that led to the upper floor.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, and she turned to him with a smile.

“Actually, I’m starving,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing a little.  He nodded.

“Why don’t you go and sit down?” he suggested, opening the door to the lounge.  “I’ll make us some dinner.”

Belle watched him go, limping with a brisk, if uneven stride.  She wondered how he had injured himself. If it had happened in this world, in this life, or if he had always been that way.  It was strange to see him like this, his skin warm and smooth, his eyes a deep brown, his teeth white. His hair was soft, hanging around his face, and the lines around his eyes and mouth were more noticeable.  As the Dark One, as _her_ Dark One, he had been at once ancient and ageless.  He had sounded different, too, his voice varying between snide and high-pitched and low and rough when he was angry.  He was different in this world. Human. He was still Rumple, though. Still handsome, and still hers. Still her True Love.

She wandered through to the room he had opened.  It was warm, a fire burning in the hearth. It looked as though it had just been lit, and she suspected the use of magic.  His need for magic, for power, made her want to sigh in despair. She hoped that she could get him to see that he didn’t need power to be happy.  She hoped that, in the end, he would choose her.

The room was comfortable: set out with beautiful pieces of furniture, the shelves of cabinets in shining dark wood filled with trinkets and old books.  She hurried towards those, eyes roaming greedily over the spines. None of them were familiar to her, and her fingers itched to pull them from the shelves.  She took a step back. There would be time enough to read. Right now, she wanted to talk to her love.

She walked back out of the room, along the corridor in the direction he had taken, heels clicking on the wooden floor.  The dress she wore was far shorter than she was used to, but part of her brain told her that it was fine in this world, that showing that much leg was more than acceptable.  She had to admit that she looked good, and the expression on Rumple’s face when she had stepped out from behind the screen in the shop had been all the encouragement she needed.  At least he didn’t seem to shun mirrors in this world.

She entered a kitchen, and saw Rumple standing at the stove, stirring a pan of something, his rear end wiggling in those pants he wore.  It was a pleasant sight, reminding her of some of his tighter outfits in the Enchanted Forests. He had removed his jacket, and it was hanging over the back of one of the wooden chairs.  A savoury smell of frying onions and garlic reached her nose, and as she watched, he reached to the side for an open bottle of wine and poured some into the pan. It seethed and boiled, steam rising up with the sharp scent of the wine, and Belle stepped nearer as he stirred rapidly.

“Hey,” she said, and he started, turning to face her.  His face broke into a smile, his eyes crinkling.

“Hey,” he said, and gestured with a spoon, dripping with glistening liquid.  “Why don’t you have a seat? Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Please.”

How long since she had had wine?  She could barely remember the taste of it.  He put down the spoon, tucking the end of a towel into the waistband of his pants as he took the bottle and poured a glass.  Wine flowed out, the colour of pale straw, and Belle took it with a smile. It smelt of tart summer berries and apples, of sun-kissed days in the orchards at her father’s castle.  She wondered where her father was, if he was in this strange land, too.

“I’ve never seen you cook before,” she said.  “What are you making?”

“Oh, just some pasta,” he said.  “All I could think of at short notice.  I - I remember that you like chicken, and I had some in the fridge.”

He shot her an uncertain look, as though he was afraid she wouldn’t like his choice.  As though whatever he cooked wouldn’t taste wonderful after the salty, tasteless slop she had eaten in her cell.  She smiled at him, nodding, and took another sip of the wine. It was crisp and fresh on her tongue, and she set down the glass as he turned back to his cooking.

She watched curiously as he tore handfuls of green leaves from a pot on the windowsill.  The leaves sent out a fresh, herbal scent, which she recognised as basil. He stuffed them into a glass container, adding salt and pepper and throwing in what looked like a handful of nuts.  A generous amount of olive oil and finely-grated cheese went in, and he put the lid on, flicking a switch on the wall. Belle jumped at the harsh grinding noise that resulted, the contents of the glass container whizzing around, a rich green paste developing.

Rumple stuck his finger in the mixture, smacking his lips before shrugging and adding more olive oil and cheese.  He stirred the pan, flicking off the blue flame beneath, and Belle sat back in her chair, taking another sip of wine as she watched him serve up.  She had felt a little wary when he said he was making pasta; in her cell she had been faced with something they had called mac and cheese, a gluey, tasteless concoction that she had pushed around her plate with little appetite.  When he set the plate in front of her, however, she was relieved. Long strands of pasta had been mixed with the cheese and herb paste he had made, flecks of basil coating the lengths in the greenish-golden olive oil. Pieces of chicken had been fried with onions and garlic and a little wine, and were mixed into the rest.  A delicious smell was wafting from the plate, and Belle’s mouth watered.

She picked up her fork, spearing a piece of chicken and winding strands of pasta around it.  The first bite was delicious: the chicken moist and tender, the pasta pungent with herbs and the sweetness of strong cheese.  She made a sound of enjoyment, and Rumple grinned at her, dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her eat. He needed to shave, the light glinting on what she suspected was two days’ worth of stubble, silver and gold specks on his cheeks and chin, and she imagined what it would feel like to have his mouth on her, whether the stubble would rasp against her skin, her lips.  

He met her eyes as he took another bite, and she held his gaze for a moment, an unfamiliar sense of need making her belly tighten as she squeezed her thighs together.  His lips were shining, glossy with the olive oil, the swell of his lower lip soft and sensual, and she wanted to kiss him again. She wondered if he was planning on kissing _her._ He had been somewhat withdrawn since she had returned to his shop, but she very much wanted him to kiss her.  To do more than kiss her, if she was honest. There was silence for a while, both of them tucking into the food, interspersed with sips of wine, and it was not until Belle’s appetite had been sated somewhat that she spoke.

“So,” she said.  “You - have a different life here.”

Rumple hesitated, fork hovering over his plate.

“In some ways,” he admitted.  “There I was the Dark One. Here, I was a pawnbroker.  I still made deals, just - for different things.”

“Still seeking desperate souls?” she asked, her tone dry.

“Everything has a price, Belle,” he said quietly.  “Not just magic.”

“But now there’s magic here, too,” she pointed out.  “You - you brought it back.”

He looked away, his mouth flattening a little, and picked up his glass.

“I did.”

“So…”  She floundered a little.  “So, is it going to be the same as it was back home?  Deals and dark magic and spinning to - to forget whatever it is you want to forget?”

Rumple took a sip of wine, leaning back in his chair and fixing her with a dark-eyed stare.  It made her shiver a little, but the sensation was pleasant.

“Magic is different here,” he said quietly.  “And I don’t want to forget anymore, Belle. I want to remember.  We can talk about that tomorrow, but I think you should rest tonight.  It’s been a long day.”

“And a long night before that,” she agreed.  “I guess you’re right.”

He smiled faintly, and they turned back to their food.  Belle leaned forward, grinning.

“Oh, and I’m almost certain you have a library in this house,” she added.  “I’m gonna need you to show me.”

His smile grew, his eyes twinkling.

“I’ll never get you out of there, will I?”

* * *

After they had eaten, he washed the dishes, refusing help from Belle, despite her offers.  The sleeves of his shirt were unbuttoned, pushed up to his elbows, exposing slender, lightly-tanned arms, and she watched with interest as he scrubbed at the pots and the muscles in his forearms jumped and twitched.  When he was done, he wiped his hands on a small towel, turning to face her, his eyes briefly flicking over her before settling at a point just to the side of her nose, as though it hurt to gaze at her directly. He seemed almost hesitant, withdrawn, and she wasn’t sure how he really felt about her being there in his house.  Perhaps it would be different when they went to bed. She had already decided that she didn’t want to spend another night apart from him, but they hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements, and she didn’t want to be the one to raise the issue.

“Right,” he said quietly.  “I - I suppose I should show you to your room.”

Belle blinked.

“My room?”

“Yes.”  He met her eyes then, sending her a brief smile.  “Come. I’ll find you something to wear.”

She followed him up the stairs, chewing her lip.  This was not working out as planned, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.  The stairs opened out onto a landing, several wooden doors spaced along it. Rumple gestured to one of them.

“That’s my room,” he said.  “I put you next door. Is that alright?”

He opened up the door, revealing a large room, its walls the same dusky pink as the rest of the house, the furniture all in dark wood: shapely, well-made pieces that went well with the pink walls and the deep red coverlet on the bed.  The mirrors were uncovered here, too. She wondered if he would want to cover them, now that there was magic in this world. Rumple seemed to be waiting for something, and so she turned to him with a smile, putting a hand on his arm.

“It’s lovely,” she said. _And it is.  It’s a beautiful room.  Not sure why you’ve put me in here, but we can deal with that later._

“And this is the bathroom,” he added, opening another door.  “If you want to take a shower, i can show you how it works.”

Belle stepped inside, finding a large white slipper tub with brass taps, and a sink and toilet.  A glass cube held the shower, and she eyed that uneasily. Showers in the hospital had been mandatory every three days.  They had also been cold, harsh and painfully rough. She didn’t expect his to be, but even so.

“I think I’d like to take a bath,” she said.

Filling the bath was easy enough to work out; she had enjoyed hot running water at the Dark Castle, after all, and Rumple gave her some sort of liquid that foamed in the torrent.  He apologised for having little in the way of bath additives, but he gave her some soap and something to wash her hair with, along with a bottle of something to condition it afterwards.

“I - I’ve never exactly had a guest here,” he said awkwardly, and Belle giggled.

“A guest?” she teased.  “Is that what I am?”

He blinked at her before glancing away, and she wanted to sigh.   _Gods, he’s skittish!_

“It’s fine, Rumple,” she said gently.  “Really.”

He smiled at that, and nodded, fingers opening and closing on the handle of his cane.

“Right,” he said.  “Right. Well, I’ll go and find something for you to sleep in.  Leave you to it. Just - just call if you need anything.”

* * *

Belle enjoyed her bath, the first she had taken in as long as she could remember.  She sank low in the hot water, bubbles rising up over her shoulders, soaking muscles stiff from walking in the woods after so many years of too little exercise.  She washed her hair, fingers working in thick suds to take away the last, lingering smell of her prison cell, and rinsing it before stroking thick conditioner through the strands.  He had given her a comb, and she spent some time teasing out the tangles in her curls, finally giving everything a last rinse in water just starting to turn from warm to tepid.

Stepping out of the bath, she wrapped her hair in a towel and dried herself off before wrapping a large, fluffy towel around her body.  The bathroom was warm and humid, and there was a sudden chill when she opened the door and poked her head out onto the landing. The door to the room he had said was his was closed, and she wondered if he was in there, or if he spent the nights brooding and spinning, as he had in the Dark Castle.

She went into the room he had given her, seeing that there was a pile of dark blue silk on the bed.  Holding it up, she saw that it was a buttoned pyjama shirt and a pair of loose pants. They were sized for him, but luckily he was almost as small as she, and she thought they would fit if she pulled in the ribbon at the waist.  The silk felt delicious against her skin, a sensual delight after the rough, scratchy fabric she had worn in the hospital, and she sat down before the mirror to towel-dry her hair, using a brush to get out the last of the tangles.

Her skin looked very pale, even in the warm light from the lamps, and she rubbed at her cheeks with her fingertips, trying to get some colour in them.  Years in a cell would do that to you. Years of too little sunlight and terrible food. It was surprising she still had any of the beauty she had once been courted for.  Her mouth twisted as she wondered whether her father would have taken her more seriously, if it had left her completely.

She looked at the wall, as though she would be able to see into his bedroom.  He had placed her in the room next to his, but she wanted to be with him. To be with him in every sense.  After their long separation, after the joy of remembering that she loved him and their passionate kiss by the well, she had presumed that she would spend her first night of freedom in his arms, in his bed.  And yet…

Chewing her lip, she reached a decision, and got to her feet before she could lose her nerve, padding out of the room.  She knocked on his bedroom door, hearing a muffled greeting before she pushed it open into darkness. Rumple was lying in the bed, moonlight shining through the curtains in the bay window, enough to make out his features.  He sat up as she entered, running a hand through his hair. He was shirtless, and for a moment all she could do was stare at him, his skin pale blue in the moonlight, his nipples darker blots against his chest.

“Belle,” he said.  “What’s the matter, are you unwell?”

“Why have you put me in that room?” she demanded.

“Is - is it not comfortable enough?” he asked.  “I have others, or—”

“No, I mean why can’t I sleep in here?” she asked.  “With you?”

His mouth opened and closed for a moment, his fingers clutching at the bedclothes as though he wanted to pull them up over himself.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

Belle put her hands on her hips.

“Did you ask?”

“I - I didn’t want to rush you into anything you weren’t ready for,” he began, and she shook her head, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“You’re an idiot!” she said firmly, and he blinked.

“I’m - what?”

“How many years were we cursed, Rumple?” she asked.  “It must have been - I mean the days all kind of flowed into one - but it was years, right?”

“Yes,” he said.  “It was years. Twenty-eight, in fact.”

_“Twenty-eight?”_

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears pricking at them.   _Twenty-eight years.  Almost three decades I was in that cell.  Why did she do that to me? To_ us _?_

“Twenty-eight years,” she said softly.  “Plus at least two in the queen’s tower.  That’s thirty years, Rumple. Thirty years she kept us apart.”

She shifted closer, and he reached out to put a hand over hers, squeezing gently.  It was a comfort, but she wanted more. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted to be his.  His scent was in the air, warmth and musk and expensive cologne, and she moved nearer, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, her thumb rasping over his stubble.  His breath seemed to quicken, and she felt her heart thump in response.

“I won’t be parted from you for one more night, do you hear me?” she asked quietly.  “And if you think I’m going to go sleep in the room next door rather than in your arms, then yes, you’re an idiot.”

He leaned into her touch, shaking his head a little, the strands of his hair tickling her fingers.

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered.  “I—”

She cut him off by kissing him, making his eyes widen.  His lips were as soft as she remembered from their kiss by the well, and his hand came up to cup her cheek as his tongue swept across her lips, gently pushing between them.  Belle moaned into his mouth, shifting closer, her hand sinking into his soft hair as an arm went around her waist, pulling her against him. Her lips slid against his, saliva making them slippery, his stubble scraping her skin.  Her free hand scrabbled at the blankets, pulling them aside so that she could slide a leg in beside him, and he pulled his mouth from hers and kissed down her neck, his tongue swirling over the point in her throat where her pulse throbbed.  It felt incredible, sending shivers through her body, and she closed her eyes with a soft gasp of pleasure.

He kissed back up her neck and along her jaw, and she touched him tentatively, her palm sliding over his shoulder and down his naked back, making him let out a low groan that made her want him all the more.  His skin was hot to the touch, smooth beneath her fingers, and she ran a gentle touch along the groove of his spine and up to the nape of his neck. He shivered, exhaling sharply, his breath hot against her mouth, and he reached up to cup her face with his hands as his lips gently pushed hers apart.  Belle moaned, leaning into him as his tongue slipped against hers, and her hands moved, sliding over his skin, exploring the firm planes of his thin chest, the taut nipples pushing against her palms. He broke the kiss, pulling back a little, breathing heavily, and rested his brow against hers. Belle licked her lips.

“Rumple?” she said softly.  “Unbutton me.”

He heard her words, spoken warm and low, her voice a whisper full of promise.  For a moment, all he could do was stare, and he pulled back a little to meet her eyes.  Belle was breathing hard, her lips full and shining from his kisses, a flush in her cheeks, and so beautiful that it made his heart ache.

“Unbutton me,” she repeated.

His hands shook as he reached for her, his usually nimble fingers feeling thick and clumsy as he pushed the buttons through their holes.  The shirt gaped a little, exposing brief flashes of pale skin, and he managed to unfasten it all the way down past her navel. Her breathing was harder, matching his own, and he swallowed hard.  He could see the inner slopes of her breasts and the shadow of her cleavage, the slight curve of her belly and the hollow of her navel. She licked her lips, making them glisten, and hesitantly, he slid a hand inside the silk, feeling the softness of skin at her waist.  Belle inhaled sharply, as though his fingertips burned, and he trailed them over the skin of her back, leaving a ripple of goosebumps over her in the wake of his touch.

She shifted closer, reaching up to touch his face, her fingers sliding through his hair as she kissed him.  Her tongue pushed into his mouth, hot and urgent, and he deepened the kiss, tasting the need in her, feeling himself harden in response.  His hand slid around, moving up her waist, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure as his hand felt the curve of her breast. Belle moaned into his mouth as he squeezed her gently, and she pushed into his hand, her kiss becoming messy, desperate.  He pulled back, almost panting, and slipped his fingers beneath the dark blue silk, pushing it from her shoulders and down her arms. Belle shook it off, letting it fall, and he let out a sigh as she was revealed to him.  So much beauty.  Her body was all curves and hollows, her skin luminous in the moonlight, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders.  He cupped her face with his hands, staring into her eyes, as deep and dark as the ocean.

“I love you,” he whispered.  “Oh Belle, I love you so much!”

He kissed her again, his hands sinking into her hair, feeling her fingertips trail over his back and run over the lines of his ribs.  He knew he wasn’t much to look at; he never had been, after all, being short and thin and lame.  She was everything that was perfect: young and brave and beautiful, and he was ancient and bitter and broken.  But she looked at him with love in her eyes, and for a moment he believed it could be enough. That _he_ could be enough.  That he could give her what she wanted.  What she needed.

He threw the blankets aside, putting his hands on her waist, lifting and rolling until she lay on the bed beside him.  He was lying half on top of her, his hair hanging in his face, and she reached up to brush it back, raising her head up off the pillows to kiss him.  His hand moved down to cup her breast, and she arched up with a tiny moan. Her skin was as soft and smooth as brushed silk, and he squeezed gently, pulling his mouth from hers to kiss down her throat, his tongue swirling over her.  Belle moaned, fingers raking his hair, and he moved lower, breathing in the scent of her, the light perfume of the bath foam and her own fragrance. His lips trailed over her breast, and he sucked her nipple into his mouth, making her let out a cry of pleasure.  It was hard against his tongue, and he groaned at the feel of her, his cock rigid in his pants, pressed against her thigh.

Belle was letting out tiny moans, and he let her nipple slip from his mouth, kissing back up her chest to her neck, his tongue sweeping in circles where her pulse throbbed beneath her skin.  One hand was on the flat of her belly, and he let it slide down, pushing beneath the waistband of her pants, through soft skin and damp curls and into the slick folds between her legs. Belle arched her back with a cry as he stroked her, releasing a rush of fluid, hot and wet and wonderful.  He ached to be inside her, to be joined with her, but he wanted to give her pleasure first, if he could.

He stroked her gently, fingers slipping through her soft flesh, and teased her entrance, dipping a fingertip inside.  Belle moaned, pushing up into his hand, and so he let the finger slide a little deeper, pushing slowly inside her. She was hot and slippery-wet, her soft walls gripping him, and he let his thumb flicker over her, seeking out the hard bud at the top of her cleft.  She moaned as he brushed over it, a tiny pearl beneath the pad of his thumb, and he began to move his finger in and out of her, the thumb circling her clit. Belle whimpered, one hand twisting in his hair, and he bit down into her neck as he stroked and thrust. He kissed up to her ear, his lips tugging at the lobe.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart,” he whispered.  “Perfect.”

She turned her head to meet his, her kiss hard and hungry, and he slipped another finger into her, making her hum into his mouth as he pushed deep.  He was rubbing and thrusting and stroking, and she was rocking her hips against his hand, working herself up to climax. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel her come, to taste her pleasure on his fingers.  Belle pulled her lips from his, letting out a high-pitched moan.

“Rumple!” she breathed.

She came with a cry, her body jerking, her flesh clamping down on his fingers, hot fluid flowing over them, and he groaned into her neck, sliding his fingers in and out of her, slick with her juices.

“Gods, you’re beautiful!” he breathed into her ear.  “So beautiful.”

He felt her shiver at his words, at the feel of his breath, and she settled back against the pillows with a sigh as her body stilled.  Slowly, he drew out the fingers, lifting them to his mouth, inhaling the scent of her pleasure before slipping them in between his lips and tasting her bliss.  He let out a low, rumbling groan as her flavour burst across his tongue, and sucked them clean, his tongue wrapping around to catch every droplet. When he opened his eyes Belle was staring at him, her gaze heavy-lidded and sleepy.

“That was incredible,” she whispered, and stroked his hair back again, strands falling between her fingers, her thumb rasping over the stubble on his cheek.  “Take them off.”

He slid his hand down over her belly again, fingers plucking at the ribbon at her waist and pulling it open, and then he knelt up, gently drawing the pants down over her hips and off at her feet, leaving her naked.  She was beautiful in the moonlight, her skin painted in shades of blue from pale powder on the mounds of her breasts, to cobalt streaks on the lines of her ribs, to deep, rich midnight in the cleft between her thighs.  He bent his head to kiss her knee, moving up to her inner thigh, feeling the muscles there jerk against his lips. He could smell her as he kissed upwards, the scent of her arousal surrounding him, and he let his tongue swipe over the skin at the top of her thigh, catching the taste of her salt.  Belle moaned, and he kissed her, lips trailing up, tongue running along the crease at the top of her leg.

He could hear her breathing hard, and her hands dropped to stroke through his hair as he pressed gentle, reverent kisses to her.  The curls between her legs were hot and sticky with her fluid, and he lifted a hand, fingers parting them to reveal her glistening sex.  The first taste of her was heaven, and she let out a cry, fingers twisting in his hair. He groaned in pleasure, his tongue circling, swirling against her.  She let her knees rise up, inner thighs pressing against his head, and he licked at her, inhaling the scent of her, covering himself in her.

Belle was lost in sensation, eyes closed, skin humming from his touch.  His tongue was soft and wet against her, stroking and sliding. She had read about this in a book she had found, and had curled up on a chair in the library when he was away making deals, her cheeks flushed, praying that he wouldn’t return before she had finished.  There had been other things in that book, other things that intrigued her, even as they shocked her. At the time, she had wondered if he had ever read it, and she now thought she had her answer.

His tongue flickered over her, sending bursts of sensation through her, and she moaned, her fingers tugging at the soft strands of his hair.  She felt his finger push at her, sliding inside, and threw her head back with a tiny cry, lifting her hips a little to let him push deeper. It felt incredible, having a part of him inside her, his mouth on her, his tongue swirling over her in a steady rhythm, and she felt a flush bloom in her cheeks, her heart thudding in her chest, a wave of bliss rising up through her body.  She let out a moan that grew to a cry as she came, white light bursting behind her eyes, her pulse throbbing in her head, pleasure rippling through her body. He was still licking her, letting out a low rumble of pleasure as his tongue swept over her, and she tried to catch her breath, the tip of her tongue sweeping over dry lips and tasting her sweat.

Rumple could taste her on his tongue, sticky fluids covering his face and in his hair.  He kissed his way up over her belly, spreading her scent, tasting fresh perspiration, salty on his tongue.  She was humming contentedly, her fingers raking through the damp strands of his hair, and he kissed her breasts, sucking on her nipples and pulling a moan from her.  He was still wearing pants, his cock rubbing against the thin silk, and he pushed himself up on the heels of his hands, gazing down at Belle. She gave him a beautiful, sleepy smile, and nodded in response to the unspoken question.

“I want you,” she whispered, and her words coursed over him like fire.

He pushed the pants down over his hips, struggling out of them, and Belle reached up to pull him to her, hands running over his shoulders and down his arms as he settled between her legs.  She was looking him over, eyes flicking from left to right, up and down, raking over his body as she opened her legs wider, running soft inner thighs up over his hips.  She reached up to brush his hair back from his face, smiling up at him a little nervously, and he felt tears prick his eyes. All those years. All the time he had thought she was dead.

“I thought I’d lost you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice breaking a little.  “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

The tears welled up, spilling over and coursing down his cheeks, and Belle reached up to wipe them away with a sweep of her thumbs.

“Sssh,” she whispered.  “None of that, now, love.  We’re together. I love you, and we’re together.”

She raised her head, gently kissing the tears from his eyes, her lips soft and warm against his skin, and then she pressed her mouth to his.  He could taste the salt of his tears on her lips, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking against hers, moving a little until he was pushed up against her core.  Belle let out a tiny keening sound, and pulled her mouth from his, a sigh escaping her.

“Rumple,” she murmured, and shifted her hips, rubbing against him and making him grit his teeth.

He reached between them, stroking her gently and making her moan, slipping two fingers inside her, pushing deep.  She was wonderfully wet, and he drew the fingers out, taking himself in hand, spreading her fluids up and down his length, his breath coming hard.  He shifted position, pressing up against her, and Belle caught her breath, fingers poised on his shoulders. He pushed slowly into her, a low groan coming from him at the feel of her around him, wet velvet sliding against him.  She arched her back with a moan, lifting her knees, allowing him to slide deeper. She stiffened, nails digging into him, and he stopped moving, pushing up on his hands.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, and she nodded.

“Fine,” she said.  “I’m fine.”

He kissed her, and she opened her mouth for him, letting out a squeak as he pushed all the way inside her.  Her body had stiffened, and he stopped moving as she seemed to hold her breath, but then she relaxed, her hands stroking over his shoulders, her body loosening.  She pulled at his lips with hers, sending him a tiny smile.

“I’m alright,” she said.  “You won’t break me.”

Her smile widened, and so he let himself get lost in her heat and her scent and the feel of her all around him, scalding him.  He kissed her, damp fingers pushing through her hair and spreading the scent of her pleasure, her mouth hot and sweet. She lifted her knees a little more, wrapping her legs around him, and he began to move with long, slow strokes, circling his hips a little, grinding against her.  It felt incredible, good enough to make him want to weep.

 _“Belle!”_ he breathed, and she ran her hands up to sink into his hair.

“I love you, Rumple,” she whispered.  “I love you so much!”

“I love you, too.”  He nuzzled her nose with his.  “I love you, I love you!”

He kissed her, and she moaned into his mouth, lifting her hips a little to meet him as he moved, as he slid and thrust, pushing all the way inside her.  She let her hands fall back onto the pillows, pulling her mouth from his to let out a low moan as he ground against her, and he slid his hands up her arms and over her wrists, threading his fingers through hers, pressing her hands down as he quickened his pace a little.

“That feels amazing!” she breathed.  “Yes, my love!”

He released her hands, his fingers sliding into her hair as he kissed her, knowing that he was close and wanting to take her with him.  Belle let out a whimper, and he kissed down her neck, inhaling deeply to pull the scent of her inside him, to drown in her.  He drew his tongue up the line of her throat as her head rolled back, and she let out a cry of pleasure, clenching around him, tugging at him.  It was too much, too much, and he let out a long, low groan as he came deep inside her, a wave of heat and bliss washing over him as he moved in tiny thrusts, shivers running through his body. Belle clung to him, hands buried in his hair, thighs gripping him, and he let out a final groaning gasp before he slowed and stopped, ecstasy stealing his vision and leaving him in darkness, shattered and drained and spent.

There was silence except for their ragged breathing, and he kept his eyes closed, concentrating on the incredible feeling of being inside her, as though he were a part of her.  Belle was slowly stroking her fingers through his hair, sending ripples of sensation through him, and she pressed soft kisses to his cheek, her nose nuzzling him.

“I love you,” she whispered.  “I love you so much.”

He pushed himself up a little on his forearms, his lips brushing over hers, and kissed her gently, feeling himself soften inside her.  Belle let out a contented sigh as he slipped out of her and rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, and she stroked a hand up his chest, her eyes wandering a little before fixing on his.  He brushed dark curls off her face, the strands of her hair a little damp, and cupped her cheek with his palm. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips full and dark, and she smiled up at him, slipping her arm around his waist.

“Well,” she said softly.  “That was quite a reunion.”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, afraid that if he closed his eyes she would disappear, and he would wake alone, filled with bitterness and grief and regret.  He had already suffered too many years of that torture. His thumb stroked her cheek, running along the velvet swell of her lower lip, her skin soft and hot to the touch. Belle’s fingers were trailing over his back, making him shiver, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“It’s late,” he whispered.  “We could go to sleep, if you like.”

Her smile grew wicked, her eyes gleaming as she looked up at him.

“Later,” she said.  “I want to savour this moment.  And please tell me that dark curse of yours gives you some sort of extraordinary stamina.”

“Well, I don’t need to sleep, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good.”  She kissed him again.  “Because we have thirty years to make up for, and I - may have read an interesting book in the Dark Castle.”

Rumple showed his teeth.

“Tell me more.”


End file.
